Crabapple Cove, Maine.

Hawkeye tosses the magazine into a corner, stashes his empty glass away tidily in the sink. He pulls on an old red bathrobe with a torn sleeve and pushes open the door. Walks out onto the creaking, grey-boarded veranda and down the wide steps, feet scuffing black footprints in the shallow scattering of snow. Collects the mail from the letterbox, returns to the house, and tosses it on the fire without opening it. He doesn't look at photographs.